"The Man in Black" is, of course, Johnny Cash; he sings a song by that title as well. But it's also Wesley, in The Princess Bride, as The Dread Pirate Roberts. And then there are The Men in Black, alien hunters from the movie of that title. Now, the 2016 TV show Westworld, based on a 1970s movie, has a character named "Man in Black." (Zorro is also a man in black, although not called as such.)
A quick search reveals that "Man in Black" is used for everyone from racing's Dale Earnhardt to characters from TV's Lost and filmdom's For a Few Dollar's More-- and novels from Stephen King back to... Geoffrey Chaucer!
However, "women in black" are far rarer. The novel The Woman in Black is only from 1983, and everything based on it is even more recent. There is also a movement of anti-war protesters who came to be known as The Women in Black.
Well, now we might finally have a musical Woman in Black to compare to Cash.
The song is basically two lists: one of the kinds of people who do wear white, and then another of those who wear black.
"White," it says, is for: virgins, "children in summer," and brides.
"Black," meanwhile, is for: outlaws, dancers, "the poet of the dark," the crone, the bastard, "the schoolgirl in uniform," "the servant in the hall," the gangster, and the widow.
What's wrong with white? Nothing in general, just that it's wrong for her. Again, why? Well, "white is too blinding/ Always reminding/ Of the innocent who fall."
So, black is either for those who already fell, or for those who were never innocent to begin with and started, so to speak, on the floor. "Those," as she puts it, "of my station in life" (see the above list).
Black, furthermore, "is for secrets... it's the shade and the shadow." While white is "blinding" and revealing, black hides, and allows things to be hidden. While white shows things to the eye, black is "the depth into your eye," the pupil, the part that sees. Yes, ironically, it is the blackest part of the eye that lets the light in.
Let's look again at the list of black-wearers. The outlaw and gangster are criminals; of course they need to hide. The poet doesn't need to hide, but prefers to, the better to observe without being observed. The widow wears black out of grief and somberness; she is not supposed to attract men's romantic attention with color. So these prefer black by choice.
The servant is never to be the center of attention, but is meant to serve those who are. The old crone and bastard are, by their nature, outcasts and affronts to decent society, and so shunted into the shadows. The schoolgirl is likewise deemed unimportant by society-- she is both young and female, making her doubly dismiss-able. These are made to wear black so that they fade into the background, even against their will.
Then there is the dancer. She chooses to wear black, yet is in the spotlight! Public as she is, she as a person is less important than her art, her movements. By wearing black, she disappears as an individual, and becomes a mere screen on to which the audience projects its self-image.
"Black is the truth of my situation," the speaker concludes. "All other colors lie." So she either is made to wear black but has embraced it, or has chosen it outright. It allows her to hide.
Musically, the song is one of Vega's hardest-rocking numbers, at least since 99.9oF.
Next song: Portrait of the Knight of Wands
Showing posts with label adolescence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adolescence. Show all posts
Monday, October 31, 2016
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Zephyr and I
A "zephyr" is a light breeze. "Zephyr," the Greek god whose namesake this gust is, is the god of the West wind, and therefore of Spring. He was so jealous that he killed a young man rather than have a rival have him.
The song kicks off with a riff that calls to mind the song "Wild Thing" (the Troggs one, not the Tone Loc one).
The speaker introduces us to a man named Zephyr. They are hanging out on West End Avenue, on the western shore of Manhattan, an area visited many times in Vega's songs. They are reminiscing, "talking about the things that all of us used to do" and "the 1970s."
While they are, "the wind kicks up, with the smell of rain." This is foreshadowing, along with a nod to Zephyr's name.
The name Zephyr, as we have seen, is an old one. And the song is what what leaves and what stays. The Greeks no longer worship their old gods, but we still know their names. Likewise, "The kids are gone but the souls remain." The souls of those kids live on in the adults they became.
The Mall of America is a real place, a gigantic indoor mall (how big is it? It contains a roller coaster) in Minnesota. Here, the speaker says, "there was a youth mall of America on this street." Instead of hanging out at the mall, she means, they used this street as a meeting place. They were as frequently seen there as "cops on a beat." Specifically, there was a monument to firefighters who died in the line of duty that "fatherless teenagers" congregated around. They were as diverse as America itself.
More imagery of what is lost and what stays-- "The graffiti" and "flowers" leave but the "walls" and "earth" remain. Later, she opines that the walls don't just remain, but "complain" that their decorative paint jobs have been worn or sandblasted away or painted over.
"In the spring" (Zephyr's time), "the tide in Riverside will wash away the cold and frozen." Riverside is a park on the Upper West Side. The "river" it is on the "side" of is the Hudson.
And the rain? "Rain will clean the stain and wash away downstream."
Years pass, but the cycle of seasons remains. The old gets washed away by the new, as always. But the memories remain. The souls that were shaped in those formative teenage years live on.
It is possible that there is no Zephyr who is a childhood friend talking to her. Or even a god she is communing with. It may, in fact, just be a zephyr--a passing breeze that stirs up some leaves... and memories.
Next Song: Ludlow Street
The song kicks off with a riff that calls to mind the song "Wild Thing" (the Troggs one, not the Tone Loc one).
The speaker introduces us to a man named Zephyr. They are hanging out on West End Avenue, on the western shore of Manhattan, an area visited many times in Vega's songs. They are reminiscing, "talking about the things that all of us used to do" and "the 1970s."
While they are, "the wind kicks up, with the smell of rain." This is foreshadowing, along with a nod to Zephyr's name.
The name Zephyr, as we have seen, is an old one. And the song is what what leaves and what stays. The Greeks no longer worship their old gods, but we still know their names. Likewise, "The kids are gone but the souls remain." The souls of those kids live on in the adults they became.
The Mall of America is a real place, a gigantic indoor mall (how big is it? It contains a roller coaster) in Minnesota. Here, the speaker says, "there was a youth mall of America on this street." Instead of hanging out at the mall, she means, they used this street as a meeting place. They were as frequently seen there as "cops on a beat." Specifically, there was a monument to firefighters who died in the line of duty that "fatherless teenagers" congregated around. They were as diverse as America itself.
More imagery of what is lost and what stays-- "The graffiti" and "flowers" leave but the "walls" and "earth" remain. Later, she opines that the walls don't just remain, but "complain" that their decorative paint jobs have been worn or sandblasted away or painted over.
"In the spring" (Zephyr's time), "the tide in Riverside will wash away the cold and frozen." Riverside is a park on the Upper West Side. The "river" it is on the "side" of is the Hudson.
And the rain? "Rain will clean the stain and wash away downstream."
Years pass, but the cycle of seasons remains. The old gets washed away by the new, as always. But the memories remain. The souls that were shaped in those formative teenage years live on.
It is possible that there is no Zephyr who is a childhood friend talking to her. Or even a god she is communing with. It may, in fact, just be a zephyr--a passing breeze that stirs up some leaves... and memories.
Next Song: Ludlow Street
Monday, February 8, 2016
Lolita
Sting, in "Don't Stand So Close to Me," refers to "that famous book by Nabakov." The book he means is Lolita. It is the tale of a man who lusts after a young woman, as in too young.
Most of the works based on this character, like Sting's song and Stanley Kubrick's movie, were created by men, as was the original. Vega's response, as a woman, is to address the character directly; the speaker takes it upon herself to offer a somewhat motherly "a word of protection."
"Lolita, almost grown... go on home," urges the speaker. Have some dignity, she advises, and "Don't be a dog all your life... beg[ging] for some little crumb of affection... a token of blood or tenderness."
The "blood" may refer to the blood that often (but not always!) occurs when the hymen is disturbed during initial intercourse.
This Lolita is trying to "be somebody's wife," and that is not what she needs to be pursuing at this point in her life.
But how can the speaker presume to talk to her, what does she know? Well, a lot, as it happens, and from personal experience: "I've been when you are standing... in your mother's black dress," trying to appear older than she is.
She is "leaning in the doorway" provocatively. But being in a doorway is also being, metaphorically, in a place of transition from one status to the next; she is "almost" grown, but not quite-- so, on the threshold, in the doorway as it were, of adulthood.
Why is this Lolita acting this way? The speaker knows: "So hungry/ For the one understanding." Well, says the speaker, don't go to men for that. Here, I'll be your friend, I'll understand better than any man could.
So don't trade your youth and innocence-- and body-- for the understanding that is not forthcoming from some... guy, dear. Go on home.
Next Song: Honeymoon Suite
Most of the works based on this character, like Sting's song and Stanley Kubrick's movie, were created by men, as was the original. Vega's response, as a woman, is to address the character directly; the speaker takes it upon herself to offer a somewhat motherly "a word of protection."
"Lolita, almost grown... go on home," urges the speaker. Have some dignity, she advises, and "Don't be a dog all your life... beg[ging] for some little crumb of affection... a token of blood or tenderness."
The "blood" may refer to the blood that often (but not always!) occurs when the hymen is disturbed during initial intercourse.
This Lolita is trying to "be somebody's wife," and that is not what she needs to be pursuing at this point in her life.
But how can the speaker presume to talk to her, what does she know? Well, a lot, as it happens, and from personal experience: "I've been when you are standing... in your mother's black dress," trying to appear older than she is.
She is "leaning in the doorway" provocatively. But being in a doorway is also being, metaphorically, in a place of transition from one status to the next; she is "almost" grown, but not quite-- so, on the threshold, in the doorway as it were, of adulthood.
Why is this Lolita acting this way? The speaker knows: "So hungry/ For the one understanding." Well, says the speaker, don't go to men for that. Here, I'll be your friend, I'll understand better than any man could.
So don't trade your youth and innocence-- and body-- for the understanding that is not forthcoming from some... guy, dear. Go on home.
Next Song: Honeymoon Suite
Monday, February 9, 2015
Freeze Tag
This second song seems a continuation of-- or companion piece to-- the first, "Cracking." It, too, takes place in "wintertime," and while the first detailed a solitary walk to the "park," this one is about a couple going to "the playground."
First, a note to those unfamiliar with American childhood games of the mid- to late 20th Century. Freeze tag is a variation on regular tag. In this version, the tagger-- dubbed "It"-- chases the other children, but when she tags them, they "freeze," and become rooted to the spot, disallowed from running further. When all the other participants are tagged and "frozen," the last becomes the new "It," everyone "unfreezes," and the chase begins again. Children continue to be endlessly inventive with new variations, which leads them to discover the true fun of any game-- arguing about the rules!
Narratively, the song presents a paradox. This couple goes to the playground for some childlike fun, and to revel in their romance in which they are as open and innocent as children. However, once they imagine themselves as children, what do they imagine themselves doing? Pretending to be adults.
The couple goes to the playground as "the sun is fading fast," symbolizing the end of their youth, which they are there to try to recapture. I am reminded of a tradition my high-school sweetheart and I developed, which was to see every new and re-released Disney movie in the theater. We loved them as children, felt "too big" for them as grade-schoolers, and now wanted to enjoy them again as we approached adulthood and wallow in comforting nostalgia.
Such behaviors Vega depicts, using playground imagery, as "slides into the past"-- it's so easy to slip into the soothing familiarities of childhood-- and the ambivalent "swings of indecision" that make us waver between retreat there and advancement into exciting, yet frightening, maturity.
The "dimming diamonds" are likely the glints of light off the snow, now fading as the sunlight does.
The "tickling and trembling" refer to the touches freeze-tag players employ to immobilize each other, and the shivering with both cold-- real and game-imagined-- and with the anticipation of these flirtatious touches.
Now that it is dark, they "play" another game. This is a pun. They are playing at being actors, who in turn "play" roles in films. The night is as dark as in a movie hall. She first pretends to be Marlene Dietrich, and he the tragically fallen James Dean. Then they shift into a more noir mode: "You stand/ With your hand/ In your pocket/ And lean against the wall." Appropriately, they now imagine themselves as Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, major stars of such dramatically fraught, angst-ridden films.
By pretending to be others, they can be more freely themselves (Vega returns to the imagery of romantic role play in her later song "If You Were in My Movie"). And so they become more physically intimate: "We can only say 'yes' now/ To the sky, to the street, to the night." As the sunlight vanishes entirely, their movie end the way movies do: "Slow fade now to black."
But then another starts, one in which they are hero and heroine in a Camelot-based scenario: "Play me one more game of chivalry."
The songs lyrics end with another childhood game: "Do you see/ Where I've been hiding/ In his hide-and-seek?" She calls attention to the fact that she has been revealing aspects of herself through the choices of roles she has adopted. She is like Dietrich in this way, like Bacall in these other ways, like Maid Marian or Guinevere in still more. And she wants to know if he has picked up on this, and knows her better now. In a sense, a mask is a truer face.
The song's imagery revolves around childhood games, but the message is both adult and serious. The only reason a freeze-tag player holds still is that she is obeying the rules. Nothing is actually, physically holding her still.
How like life that is, Vega observes. What is holding them back from embracing adulthood, with all of its amazing freedoms and overwhelming responsibilities? What is keeping our lovers from embracing each other, physically and emotionally? Nothing that does not exist entirely in their own minds, and those others involved in their societal games.
The sun is fading fast. Now, they get to see what they look like in the dark.
Next Song: Marlene on the Wall
First, a note to those unfamiliar with American childhood games of the mid- to late 20th Century. Freeze tag is a variation on regular tag. In this version, the tagger-- dubbed "It"-- chases the other children, but when she tags them, they "freeze," and become rooted to the spot, disallowed from running further. When all the other participants are tagged and "frozen," the last becomes the new "It," everyone "unfreezes," and the chase begins again. Children continue to be endlessly inventive with new variations, which leads them to discover the true fun of any game-- arguing about the rules!
Narratively, the song presents a paradox. This couple goes to the playground for some childlike fun, and to revel in their romance in which they are as open and innocent as children. However, once they imagine themselves as children, what do they imagine themselves doing? Pretending to be adults.
The couple goes to the playground as "the sun is fading fast," symbolizing the end of their youth, which they are there to try to recapture. I am reminded of a tradition my high-school sweetheart and I developed, which was to see every new and re-released Disney movie in the theater. We loved them as children, felt "too big" for them as grade-schoolers, and now wanted to enjoy them again as we approached adulthood and wallow in comforting nostalgia.
Such behaviors Vega depicts, using playground imagery, as "slides into the past"-- it's so easy to slip into the soothing familiarities of childhood-- and the ambivalent "swings of indecision" that make us waver between retreat there and advancement into exciting, yet frightening, maturity.
The "dimming diamonds" are likely the glints of light off the snow, now fading as the sunlight does.
The "tickling and trembling" refer to the touches freeze-tag players employ to immobilize each other, and the shivering with both cold-- real and game-imagined-- and with the anticipation of these flirtatious touches.
Now that it is dark, they "play" another game. This is a pun. They are playing at being actors, who in turn "play" roles in films. The night is as dark as in a movie hall. She first pretends to be Marlene Dietrich, and he the tragically fallen James Dean. Then they shift into a more noir mode: "You stand/ With your hand/ In your pocket/ And lean against the wall." Appropriately, they now imagine themselves as Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, major stars of such dramatically fraught, angst-ridden films.
By pretending to be others, they can be more freely themselves (Vega returns to the imagery of romantic role play in her later song "If You Were in My Movie"). And so they become more physically intimate: "We can only say 'yes' now/ To the sky, to the street, to the night." As the sunlight vanishes entirely, their movie end the way movies do: "Slow fade now to black."
But then another starts, one in which they are hero and heroine in a Camelot-based scenario: "Play me one more game of chivalry."
The songs lyrics end with another childhood game: "Do you see/ Where I've been hiding/ In his hide-and-seek?" She calls attention to the fact that she has been revealing aspects of herself through the choices of roles she has adopted. She is like Dietrich in this way, like Bacall in these other ways, like Maid Marian or Guinevere in still more. And she wants to know if he has picked up on this, and knows her better now. In a sense, a mask is a truer face.
The song's imagery revolves around childhood games, but the message is both adult and serious. The only reason a freeze-tag player holds still is that she is obeying the rules. Nothing is actually, physically holding her still.
How like life that is, Vega observes. What is holding them back from embracing adulthood, with all of its amazing freedoms and overwhelming responsibilities? What is keeping our lovers from embracing each other, physically and emotionally? Nothing that does not exist entirely in their own minds, and those others involved in their societal games.
The sun is fading fast. Now, they get to see what they look like in the dark.
Next Song: Marlene on the Wall
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